


Pens

by onbrokenfeet



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: F/F, fluffy lil soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-20
Updated: 2017-01-20
Packaged: 2018-09-18 18:15:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9397220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onbrokenfeet/pseuds/onbrokenfeet
Summary: You hate being stuck underground. It's reserved for the dead. Well, the dead and Pen Girl.[You're Carmilla, stuck with riding the subway to work, at least it's made easier by a certain Laura Hollis who just won't stop drawing your attention.]





	

**Author's Note:**

> A neat little thing I wrote with the help of Nootvanlis on Tumblr.

**The First Time**   
  
You hate your new route to work. The city bleeds horrendous smells and ear-splitting sounds, the streets are flooded with colliding languages and shit drivers. That’s where you want to be, out where the world is chaotic and real. Instead, you’re in a tube that smells of piss, in the worst way. You’re sitting in between two suits who won’t shut up about their latest financial triumphs. It’s boring underground.   
  
The train comes to a slow, screeching stop and you listen to the announcer doom you to another four stops before you can move. You’d consider a new seat if the train wasn’t packed. There’s an open one across from you, but it’s in between a screaming baby and a much more crusty suit. You go to put in your headphones as the new crowd settles in. A few standing occupants crowd around you and you do your best to ignore even the polite ones.   
  
“Sorry!” You hear in a flustered tone. You cock an eyebrow and inspect the source. The suit to your left is now screeching into his phone. A searing hot coffee is melting his lap. You have to stifle a laugh. The coffee dropper is a girl standing in front of him who you assume was knocked into. Her blush could be compared to the weeks old gum caked onto your seat. She apologizes again as the suit grumbles and wipes himself off. The train begins to move and the girl takes the seat across from you. She sits with strict posture and fidgets with her phone case nervously. She won’t look in your direction out of fear of the suit. You want to tell her to enjoy her victory, but you won’t. You instead crank up the volume of your music and hope she enjoys The Wombats as much as you do.   
  
**The Third Time**   
  
Okay. The first time, she spilled a bit of coffee. The second, she sat in the corner, eating what seemed to be an entire box of donuts alone. This time, you assume that the serendipity is over, and that the coincidences will end. There she is though, sitting next to you, reading a book on photography. You glance at it occasionally when she seems particularly interested in a photograph. You try to keep your attention on yourself, but you’ve forgotten to bring anything of interest. Your thumbs dance together in a bored tango before you hear the train begin to stop. Your stop is one away. _Say something_ , you urge yourself internally. Even if just for a moment of not being bored, say _something_.   
  
“Do you have a pen?”   
  
“What?” You’re entirely dumbfounded. There you were, trying to think of something to say, there she is, speaking.   
  
“Do you-have a pen?” Her head is tilted and her long, blonde hair is hanging so perfectly straight. Her brown eyes are soft, but to you, threatening.   
  
“No,” you say. _Smooth_ . You have probably fifteen pens in your bookbag, but who needs pens when you have- nothing. You have nothing.   
  
“Oh, thanks anyway,” she says quietly. She goes back to reading and you go back to nothing.   
  
**The Eighth Time**   
  
You’ve tried to forget the pen incident each time you see her, but you can’t. She seems to either have forgotten it, and begun regarding you as just another stranger, or has remembered it and intentionally keeps to herself. You try not to overthink it, and this time you’ve brought a book of your own. You’re reading a tale from your old pal Stoker and trying to pretend you aren’t thinking of a way to make up for something that didn’t even matter.   
  
This time, she’s sitting across from you again, in between a married couple who seems intent on arguing over top of her. She’s keeping herself calm and collected, reading what seems to be Hunter. S. Thompson. You could compliment her on her choice. No. Read. Stay focused. You attempt to get back into the swing of your novel when you hear rustling. It’s her, with her bag on the floor, under the couple who is now practically in her lap. She’s looking for something. A light bulb appears over your head. One little random grab in your bag and you’re extending a hand. She looks up, distraught, and sees your gesture. She grows a small smile and mouths a silent thanks. Fifteen pens in your book bag, and this time you actually do something with them.   
  
**The Twelfth Time**   
  
She sits next to you. You wave at each other. She smiles, you nod with a straight face. She returns your pen. You smile to yourself at work, fiddling with it in your hands. Stupid pen girl.   
  
**The Fifteenth Time**   
  
You convince yourself to sit in the corner. It’s safe, it’s secret, and it’s how you’ll survive. Work is growing more stressful and you’re working later hours. You look up instinctively when the train stops where she gets on. You go to look away when you see her board, but your eyes linger. A man stands in front of you, but you can just barely see her. She can’t see you though, and you know because she looks. She looks and she frowns and she sits alone.   
  
**The Sixteenth Time**   
  
You miss the train into work entirely. A late night horror marathon with your sister may or may not have caused you to sleep until nearly two in the afternoon. You take a cab and enjoy the sight of the sun. It’s soft and the city is disgustingly beautiful. The skyscrapers seem to wave at you. You sigh and head into work. It’s not unusually terrible, but you still feel the weight of it by the time you leave. You practically stumble down the stairs to your glorious chariot home. You crash into a seat and find a surprising emptiness around you. There’s a suit across the car from you. He’s the quiet type though, reading a newspaper and thinking about his day. There’s someone to your right too, it’s, oh.   
  
_Pen Girl._   
  
You should really learn her name.   
  
“Nice night for some peace and quiet,” you say. She jumps and looks over at you before smiling. She looks tired.   
  
“Definitely,” she says with a relieved nod.   
  
“School or work?” You ask.   
  
“Both,” she says. “You?”   
  
“Work,” you say. She nods.   
  
“I’m Laura,” she says.   
  
“Carmilla,” you reply.   
  
“Save me a seat tomorrow?”   
  
“What? So you miss out on the newest episode of Steve Wilkos?”   
  
She snorts. “What a shame that would be.”   
  
Your conversation dies somewhere between peaceful and content. She has to leave before you, which is strange.   
  
“Hey, Laura!” You call before she gets off.   
  
“Yeah?”   
  
“I’ll save you a seat.”   
  
She smiles and fades into the doorway.   
  
**The Twentieth Time**   
  
At this point, you’re sort of friends. You save her a seat and bring a steady supply of pens. She brings snacks and an additional book for you to read. It’s tradition now, after only a few short days. You still barely speak, but sometimes you get to hear about her day when you leave late. Well, when you say you had to leave late.   
  
She gets on, you go to get off.   
  
“Carmilla!” She calls. Probably another pen she forgot to give back. You turn to find her face in the crowd.   
  
“Hang out with me tomorrow?!”   
  
You go to tell her yes, anywhere, wherever. You’ll see her on the train for details and phone numbers, anyway. A man shoves you out the door the rest of the way and your chance for confirmation is gone. You’ll see her tomorrow, you think.   
  
**The Time You Thought You’d See Her**   
  
You’re late, too late.   
  
You missed your usual train, which means you missed Laura. That’s fine, though. You’ll take the late train back. Only, she isn’t on the late train, either. Today must have been her day off. You spend the late train back nearly alone. A few wanderers stray here and there. You wish you had something to read. Instead, you only have the looming thought that Laura will think you blew her off. Her fault anyway, you tell yourself.   
  
The Other Time You Thought You’d See Her   
  
At this point, you’re worried. Three days without her on either train. You think maybe you imagined her to help pass the time. You continue about business as usual, even with guilt swelling in your stomach. She’s somewhere thinking you just left her here, in this seat. This is the seat, too. The one she was in. If fate is real, it certainly is cruel.   
  
**The Twenty First Time**   
  
The doors open and you don’t even stir. You won’t look, because she won’t be there, it’s been a week. You’ve let her sit somewhere in your memories. They’re strange glitches in your life. Pens traded for donuts. You sit flipping through a Mix magazine you “accidentally” ended up with at work. It’s all lipstick spotlights and dieting tips, but it passes the time.   
  
A figure sits carefully next to you and the smell of warm coffee hits your nose. You look up from your magazine to see a hand holding coffee out to you. You follow the arm up to the face of Laura and have to contain your joy. You keep a straight face and accept her offer.   
  
“Fancy meeting you here,” she says. “You seemed like a black coffee kind of person. If not, I stole a bunch of cream and sugar.” She gestures to a pocket in her bag absolutely crammed with stolen coffee enhancers.   
  
“Black is fine, but I’m impressed by your stash.”   
  
“Thanks,” she laughs.   
  
You want to ask where she’s been, but you don’t at the same time. You instead take joy in the fact that she’s here and that she thought to bring you coffee.   
  
“So, about hanging out,” you say.   
  
“Oh! Right, sorry, I totally forgot that I never gave you my number,” she admits. “I was on a break from school, and I wanted to see if you’d wanna go out, but now I’m off of break.”   
  
“Out how?” You ask.   
  
“What do you- Oh.” She blushes, you smirk.   
  
“Just a simple question, cutie,” you say and sip your coffee.   
  
“A simple answer, then,” she says, trying to regain her composure. “Carmilla, will you go on a date with me?”   
  
It’s your turn to blush and oh, how she relishes in it. She smiles triumphantly. You scowl.   
  
“Yes,” you reply. The train comes to a stop and you give her a quick peck on the cheek.   
  
“Thanks for the coffee,” you whisper. A couple of other subway inhabitants stare and you saunter off to work. She’s in that train somewhere, jittering from coffee, and smiling like a fool.   
  
**The Thirty First Time**   
  
Your date went well, in your opinion. You ate a mountain of McDonald’s fries and wandered around Central Park for hours. You held hands, and you shared life stories. She talked about her dad, you talked about your mother. You told her about work, she told you about school. You laughed a bit, and she tried to teach you how to ice skate. It didn’t work. You’re nursing a scrape on your knee still when she boards. There aren’t any seats and you couldn’t save her one. She resorts to standing in front of you.   
  
“You can sit here,” you say.   
  
“You don’t have to get up, your knee is still busted.”   
  
“Who said I was getting up?” You wink.   
  
“Carmilla!”   
  
The world outside is chaotic and real. It bleeds and it grows. It is a collision and a marriage. The life underground is stagnant. It is empty and threatens to drown you in melancholy. On certain days though, a girl loses her pen, and on others, you forget to bring something to do. These things are mundane, and blend in with the usual crowd. Yet, they’re your favorite times, and you just can’t wait to get stuck underground.


End file.
